Chemicals Collide
by replacemewithher
Summary: Actually, you sound just like my step-brother. Maybe you two should go hang out and talk about how wonderful the process of releasing endorphins is you know what I'm referring to . DASEY!


_A/N: _This story is sort of based off Gary Crew's "strange objects," in the way that the medium for each chapter will change. However, I'm unsure if I'm going to continue this...so give it a read and tell me what you think :) Thank guys! Oh and also, I'm Australian so the spelling may look incorrect ...but it's correct in Australia haha

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**_Are you in love with your Step Brother?_**

_10 questions that will lead to the answer that may change your life! Be afraid! Be prepared! Cry before you take the test! Cry after you take it! Laugh about it! Deny it! But the truth will all be revealed in good time._

**Dr. Jenna Collins,  
Clinical Neuropsychologist**

_Dear Ms. Collins,  
My name is Casey McDonald. My understanding is that you specialize in brain impairment and how this in turn relates to thinking skills, behaviour patterns, emotion and personality. I believe that I need your help seriously because I have officially lost it._

_Yes, one can never be too sure about their mental state, I understand and respect that. As you so kindly pointed out in your last letter, I am, in fact, aware that teenagers often go through a "rebellious" stage in order to give grievance to the "rentals" (my take is that you attempting to pursue teenage slang to better 'relate' to myself, was not taken in light-heart. I feel that you completely ignored the genuine sincereity I poured into my previous five letters and decided to make a joke of a matter that is quite serious, so I beg your pardon if you're getting the feeling I'm more than a little annoyed with you)._

_However, in my defence, (because apparently I need it), you do not understand the intense emotional strain I am under. This thing that I have with the step-brother is constantly affecting me, making me feel ill, unpleasant, I can't sleep at night, I have violent panic attacks, I wake up crying etc etc._

_I would be grateful eternally if you perhaps included some better advice within your next letter to myself, rather than "your a teenager, you have hormones." Actually, you sound just like my step-brother. Maybe you two should go hang out and talk about how wonderful the process of releasing endorphins is (you know what I'm reffering to)._

_One last thing; _

_It's DEREK. Do you not understand the severity of the situation at hand? He is my step-brother. This is ILLEGAL._

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Casey McDonald._

**DEREK.**

There is something about food and hockey that makes Derek calm himself down enough to sit down and enjoy watching hockey while he eats food. Unfortunately, his calm physique is a minute triumph, because the next second knock-kneed bow-legged klutzillia is scrambling to the couch and Derek's surprised she doesn't hit her head on the corner of the table and _die_ from klutziness.

She sits down oddly close to his chair, staring at him through narrowed eyes, and this behaviour is incomprehensible. He hasn't even _done_ anything (yet) to be given the evil-eye like that. Although, in Casey's defence, Derek most certainly does have something up his sleeve, so she should be suspicious.

There Casey goes, all legs, on the couch, stretching until she's lying down, her head next to his arm resting on the armchair, her eyes fluttering up towards her eyebrows to see him.

He sighs a particularly annoyed sigh and gives in to her ...her...her..._there-ness._

"Want something?" he drawls, his voice manly and sexy and manly.

Derek can almost taste the reply on his lips. He's waiting for it, for those three little letters that so evidently sit upon Casey's tongue-here it comes, she's opening her mouth to reply: Yo-

"Why? Does it look as if I want something?"

Derek closes his eyes in frustration.

"Well, you are lying upside down staring at me, so there must be something that you want." He points out, an obvious sarcastic quip to his voice.

Casey shrugs her shoulders, doing that stupid little smile she does.

"Oh I don't know. I just like life from this perspective," She says, grinning up at him.

"Cause you're looking at me?" Derek questions, deadpanned (only, not really).

Casey's eyebrows furrow and she shakes her head.

"No."

"Oh, well then, why don't you go back to staring at the interesting ceiling so I can go back to watching this hockey game?" He motions to the tv with the hand with the remote (his baby, love of his life,) in it.

"No," Casey says, and it looks like she's thinking (does she ever stop? Derek believes that even when she's asleep she's thinking about 99 million ways to torture him, to make him hate her even more, to make him love her even-WAIT. WHAT?).

"I'm gonna go back upstairs," She lifts herself from the couch and hops up the stairs, two at a time.

Derek braces himself, waits for the _crash_ that will happen, but it doesn't.

"Her want for me is so palpable," he tells the remote, as soon as he's sure she's gone.


End file.
